


Birds of a Feather Burn Together

by TinyBoxer



Category: Original Work
Genre: Gen, Original Character(s), POV First Person, POV Original Character, Tags May Change, Warnings May Change, Winged main character, but for now its okay, but more magic n stuff, everything is subject to change so buckle up kiddos, i dont even know, more tags later on, mostly in that there is a fire and a fire watch, there may be violence later on, title may change?? if I can change it, very loosely inspired by the game Firewatch
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-25
Updated: 2019-08-04
Packaged: 2019-12-07 10:45:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,896
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18233840
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TinyBoxer/pseuds/TinyBoxer
Summary: When Wren Caulfield loses everything to a wildfire, she takes up a job at her local Firewatch. But when these fires turn out to be much more than they seem, will she be able to stop them?





	1. July 18th, 2089

Last night, I dreamt I was home again. The wind blowing through my hair, the smell of bacon in the frying pan wafting out the windows, and smoke billowing through the chimney. The sun was warm on my skin. And then I remembered everything was on fire. 

I sit bolt upright in my bed; if you could even call it that. This damn thing is way too uncomfortable to be a bed, but it’s better than the floor. It takes me a moment to get my bearings, but looking around I realize I’m not sitting in the burnt-out skeleton of my parents’ house— I’m in this dark, tiny closet of a room that my friends called a guest room. I stand, coughing some up some of the dust that my wingtips stir up as I stretch.  


I suppose some introductions are in order. My name is Wren, and I almost died in a wildfire. My therapist suggested I write down the nightmares from now on—it might help us pinpoint the trauma. As if I don’t already know what it is; watching your life burn down tends to be pretty traumatic. I get up and open the door, stepping out into the hallway so I can get some proper air. No one is awake yet, but that’s probably because it’s the crack of dawn. Grey-ish light filters through the windows as I walk into the kitchen, dumping out the old coffee grounds from the filter and getting ready to make a new pot. I finish preparing my coffee and start up the old machine, listening to it beep softly as I walk away. I grimace as I shake out my leg; I fell asleep with my phone in the back pocket of my pants, and now my ass is asleep.  


I fish it out of my pocket and idly check the notifications. The light is blinding, and I scramble to turn the brightness down. Once my eyes adjust, the angry red of the news alerts greets me.  


“Fourteen more killed in out of control forest fires; cause still unknown.”  


I grit my teeth. Those fires have been going on for months, and our fire department hasn’t done anything about it. How many acres of land have burned? Twelve hundred? I can’t even remember. I reach over my shoulder to pluck out a broken feather when the coffee maker screeches at me, making me pull out a fistful of them as I jump. Well, shit. I hope those grow back. I trudge over to the counter, throwing the feathers into the garbage can as I walk by.  


I pour out a mug and take a sip, too tired and too distracted to let the coffee cool. I wince a little as it scalds my tongue. I set down my mug for a second and check the time. The screen lights up a much more subtle blue as I click it on. 6:53 A.M. I should probably get ready for work. Or, for looking for work, anyway. My friends have been on my back about finding a job for almost a month, and whatever money I had before the fire is running dangerously low.  


I take another sip of my too-hot coffee, wince, and head to the bathroom. I dig through my hamper, looking for some not-too-dirty clothes, and run a brush through my hair. I look like I got hit by a bus, but at least I put in some effort. The pale pink smattering of burn scars on my neck and shoulder glare at me through my reflection, and I bite my cheek. I should throw on a scarf before I head out. I brush my teeth, smooth my feathers over my newly-acquired bald patch, and look myself over in the mirror one more time. This will have to do for now. I step out of the bathroom, greeted by my roommates’ alarms, and grab my scarf and my keys from the counter. I open the door and step into the dawn, ready to face the day.  


Somewhat.


	2. July 19th, 2089

 

I dreamt I was in a field. It was nice at first; I was laying on my back, wings spread wide, watching the clouds pass by. It smelled like fresh-cut grass and subtle wood smoke. I ran my fingers through the grass and picked out shapes in the clouds. Some looked like animals twisting through the sky, others like people. After a while, everything morphed into a writhing blob of black and gray, choking out the light in the sky. The air was heavy with smoke now. It hugged close to the dirt like a too-heavy blanket, filling my lungs with the acrid smell of burning timber. I couldn’t breathe. It was like someone had their hand pressed over my face. I started panicking; why can’t I breathe? Why can’t I move? Why isn’t anyone helping me?

 

Then I woke up.

 

My eyes snap open and I tumble to the ground, trying to untangle myself from the blankets. I wrestle the sheet off of my nose and flip onto my hands and knees, gasping for air. It was the sheet that kept me from breathing properly. My forehead drops to the ground as I take a deep breath, trying to calm down. I listen to the clock outside, focusing on how the seconds tick by as I try to slow the tremors that run all the way down to my wingtips. I draw in a shaky breath. Then another. Time seems to stop—all I can feel is my heart pounding in my chest and my arms shaking underneath me.

 A few more seconds tick by. Or maybe minutes? I can’t really tell, but the panic seems to finally subside after a while. My heart settles back into a more normal, more comfortable rhythm, and I can finally breathe right again. I stay kneeling on the floor for a moment, too exhausted to get up, before my roommates’ alarms start screeching from upstairs. I groan and stand up slowly, stretching as much as I can in the tiny space. My entire spine crackles as I lean backward, and I wince. I open the door to find coffee already brewing in the kitchen. Someone must have actually gotten up on time. 

I trudge over to the fridge and grab a yogurt before turning to rifle through the drawer for a spoon. I eventually find one, eating idly as I scroll through my phone, waiting for coffee to be done. I try for a minute to hop up onto one of the barstools, but my wings keep almost knocking me or the stool over. I settle for the couch. The familiar shrill screeching of the coffee maker rings through the kitchen as one of my roommates walks through the door. It’s Ophelia. She’s still got messy hair and it’s clear that she just rolled out of bed. She grumbles what I choose to interpret as ‘good morning’ at me before heading straight for the pot.

“Rough night?” I ask through a mouthful of yogurt. She glares as she pours a cup, not bothering to add anything as she takes a sip. 

“It’s too early for talking, Wren. At least lemme wake up first,” she mumbles, more focused on her mug than me at this point. I hum, standing up to throw my cup away and pour myself some coffee, too. 

“It’s almost 8, Phi. Not that early.” I grin as she shoots me another glare. Ophelia’s like a sister to me—which means it’s way too fun to poke fun at her. I pour some cream in my mug and take a sip, looking around. “Where’s your girlfriend? Isn’t she supposed to get up around now?” As if on cue, another alarm rings throughout the house, and I can hear a faint groan from upstairs.

“Yeah, she is,” Ophelia mumbles into her mug. “I should prolly go get her, actually. Maybe in a minute.” She looks up at me after a minute, apparently more awake now. “You find a job yet?” She asks, her voice still scratchy from sleep. My wings ruffle behind me as I look into my cup. 

“Not yet, no. Maybe soon though,” I sigh. She smiles at me in a lopsided kind of way that says ‘I am way too tired to be making real conversation, but I’m going to try anyway.’

“‘M sure you’ll find something. I get off work early today if you want help lookin’.”

“Thanks, Phi. That’d be nice.”

“It’s Ophelia, birdbrain.” She reaches up to ruffle my already-messy hair, but I gently swat her hand away before she gets her fingers tangled up. She sticks her tongue out at me and gets ready to make another move before someone else comes practically stomping down the stairs. 

“Aaaaand there’s Ash,” I say. “How was your night, sunshine?” 

She groans at me. She looks like more of a mess than Ophelia. 

“Too long,” she grumbles, taking the coffee out of Ophelia’s hands. She takes a tip and almost immediately spits it back into the mug. 

“Ugh, I forgot that you take your coffee black, you  _ monster _ ,” she says, making a show of wiping the coffee off of her tongue. Ophelia looks her up and down, somewhat disgusted. 

“Yeah… you can keep that.” She pours herself another cup as Ash almost dumps the entire container of cream into her stolen coffee. She very carefully waddles to the couch with her too-full cup and flicks on the news. I bristle as the familiar breaking news flashes across the screen. The wildfire alert runs across the bottom of the tv in bright, angry red. 

“The West Clarksville fire has been contained; fire danger still high.”

Ash slumps back into the couch, taking a big swig of her coffee. 

“Thank fuck,” she says. “It’s about damn time they got that thing under control.”

“What do you think caused ‘em?” Ophelia speaks up from her spot in the kitchen. 

“Dunno. Probably some idiot and his cigs or something.”

“It’s eight-thirty,” I blurt out, desperately wanting to change the subject. “Shouldn’t you be getting ready for work by now?” They both look up at me, a little surprised. 

“Yeeeah,” Ash says skeptically. “I guess we should be.” She gets up and stretches, taking one last sip of her coffee. “I’m gonna go shower,” she announces to no one in particular. Ophelia seems to take the hint and stands up, setting her mug down too. I make fake retching noises behind their backs as they walk towards the bathroom. 

“Oh, shut up, Wren,” Ophelia says playfully. “You’re just grumpy you haven’t found someone yet.”

“I have too!” I put my hand over my chest in mock offense. “I have found plenty of someones, thank you very much.”

She looks at me dully. “Uh-huh. Sure, hon.” She shakes her head, smiling lightly. “We’re gonna go shower. You gonna look for more work today?”

“Yeah,” I say. “I think I’m just gonna keep it to online searching today, though. I’m not feeling so good.”

She waves her hand as she walks away. “Alright, cool. Have fun.”

I snort. “Yeah, you too.” I walk back into my tiny bedroom and grab my laptop so I can set it up in the living room. 

 

Time for another fun day of job searching. 

**Author's Note:**

> Hey everyone! This is my first public work as well as the first real thing I've written in a while, but I figured posting it online will kick my butt back into gear. Constructive criticism is appreciated, thanks for reading!


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